


Home Again

by lilyconrad



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Anakin, Dom Obi-Wan, M/M, Punishment, Sex, Smut, Spanking, Sub Anakin, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, light on the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad/pseuds/lilyconrad
Summary: When Anakin's emotions overwhelm him, Obi-Wan is always there with a firm hand and clear eye to help him find his way back from the dark.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamingMoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingMoonlight/gifts).



> Just a quick little scribble... hope you like it!

Anakin has never been good at expressing himself, his emotions building like summer storms just out of sight over the horizon, piling up higher and higher until that critical mass is reached and they come sweeping into sight in a rush of thunder and lightning, angry words and sharp actions.

This particular negotiation mission has come toward the end of one of these cycles, fear and worry and rage swirling inside, and when he snaps at the Outer World dignitary giving him and Obi-Wan the usual run-around low-level bureaucrats always do, Obi-Wan does not give him the usual warning glance that implies a light punishment later.

He addresses it with a short, curt word: “Silence.”

Anakin is stunned at the harshness of the word, the lack of his name, the rarity of this type of response. His mind reels as Obi-Wan gives a cool smile back to the dignitary as if to say everything is under control, and his master and the dignitary resume the one step forward, two steps back dance that will eventually, somehow, allow the Jedi to remain on the planet and search for any sign of Separatist incursion. He is not sure what sort of punishment he has earned, but as he glances back and sees Obi-Wan’s clasped hands behind his back curled into fists he feels his throat go dry in both fear and excitement.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur for Anakin as he fights down any other urges to step out of line despite his flares of anger and impatience, until they are finally alone in a large suite typically held for visiting nobility but a gift to show how much the government supports the Jedi mission. 

It’s certainly nicer than their last mission’s quarters, but he barely notices the fine furnishings and soft colors, all his attention on Obi-Wan’s back as they walk in and the door closes behind them.

He draws a breath to start to speak, to make excuses for his behavior even as he knows none of them are valid.  _ I got angry. I get angry and I don’t want to but I do and I hate it. I hate it.  _ “Master, I--”   


Obi-Wan stops in the middle of the room as if he wasn’t aware Anakin was there until he spoke. He turns, slowly, blue-grey eyes edged in frost as he looks at Anakin, and Anakin feels his words die away even though his feelings surge forward through the bond. He is embarrassed by them, how loud and vicious and needy they are, and drops his gaze to the soft rugs lining the floor.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says calmly, as if he does not feel the storm blowing violently against him through the Force from Anakin. He stands a little taller, hands still behind his back, impassive as he always is in the face of these fits, and even though Anakin has yet to look up he is grateful, deep inside himself, because this is familiar. This is the beginning of what will calm him and what he deserves, even if he doesn’t know exactly what it will be.

Obi-Wan always knows. Anakin trusts him more than himself, always more than himself, as so when he hears Obi-Wan’s polished voice tell him to go into the bedroom he does.

The bedroom is dim, lit by soft globes set into the wall, the view from the tall, narrow windows that of a local forest and hills sprawling like dark waves of a strange ocean out to the night horizon. A door indicates a smaller bedroom branching off of this one, but as Anakin hesitates, wondering where he is meant to go, he feels Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder, firmly guiding him toward the large, simple bed raised up on its own little dais. His heart starts to pound with both shame and excitement as Obi-Wan stops him as they step up to stand next to the bed. “I will sit here. You will get one of our field packs.”

Caught off guard, Anakin opens his mouth to question why when Obi-Wan’s hand squeezes his shoulder, just once. His grip is firm and refocuses Anakin on his master’s words as he quietly repeats himself. “Field pack. Bring it here.” 

Anakin walks off to get it from the seating area out in the main room, a large, simple grey bag meant for trips into the wilderness. He brings it back into the bedroom, biting his lip as he sees Obi-Wan sitting on the edge of the bed with the same composure he displays during boring Council briefings. A flash of anger pulses through him: Anakin hates that, hates it more than anything-- doesn’t he care about him?-- but he feels Obi-Wan’s calming presence in the Force, beckoning Anakin toward him even as he remains motionless.  _ Come here _ , it says,  _ come to where you belong _ .

“Put it on the bed,” Obi-Wan says, and Anakin does, stepping up onto the dais to do so. He is standing, Obi-Wan is sitting, and yet the balance of power clearly hangs with Obi-Wan, who reaches over to the bag as he gives a single command. “Strip.”

Heat swells up through his body, his face flushing: this is familiar too, soothing in its own strange way. The first step in taming his destructive thoughts and behaviors. He looks down at Obi-Wan silently, half in defiance, half in submission, as he begins to peel away the layers, the tabards and tunics. Obi-Wan is watching him even as he undoes the field pack and slips his hand inside.  _ What is he doing? _ Anakin wonders, and then Obi-Wan pulls out the tight coils of ropes.

The heat floating around his face descends and pools in his body, lower and lower, as he continues to strip, distracted by the thoughtful way Obi-Wan uncoils a few lengths of the synthsilk rope and sets it to the side on the bed.  _ He’s… is he going to tie me up? He’s never done that before. I, I must have been horrible tonight.  _ Tears threaten to well up.  _ I never do anything right. I never do! _

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, like a bell ringing in the Temple, calling him back to himself, and Anakin realizes he is naked now, standing before his fully-dressed master in this quiet room so far away from Coruscant.

“What did you do tonight?” Obi-Wan asks, hands folded in his lap, gaze hard.

“I… I stepped out of line…” he offers, knowing he’s dancing around it but his pride unable to allow the truth to come out.

“You nearly cost us this avenue of investigation. You studied the briefing before we came. They respect age and seniority above all else. You should have remained silent the entire time. You  _ knew _ that, Anakin, and yet you did your best to make me look like a fool.”

“Yes, Master,” he whispers, hands curled at his tanned sides, feeling small and useless, his mistake starting to dawn on him. “I’m sorry, Master. I just… I...”

“You needed attention. From me.” The statement is not a question.

“Y-yes…” he says, voice trembling, head hung.

“Then you will have it, Anakin. You shall have  _ all _ of my attention tonight as you receive your punishment for what you have done.” 

And that is how Anakin finds himself bound by the wrists and arms behind his back, by the knees, by the ankles, bent over Obi-Wan’s lap, staring with wide eyes at the elaborate patterning of the rug laid across the dais and aware, so painfully aware, of each slap landing hard across his ass.

There is no counting as there has been before: Obi-Wan has told him this time to say everything he is sorry for, and with each admission of guilt, he receives another hard smack that acknowledges his mistake and clears it away.

“I disobeyed you.”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan’s hand lands firm and painful.

“I got angry when I shouldn’t have.”

“Yes.” Another swat, and the tears from earlier are back, born of frustration and relief at finally being able to say what he knows is true.

“I embarrassed you.”

“Yes.” Three fast, painful slaps. Anakin is hard already at this point, and he squirms against Obi-Wan’s leg, torn between shame and arousal.

This continues for as long as Anakin can think of things he is guilty of, and it’s like a floodgate opening slowly at first and then arching outward: admission after admission, his cock harder and harder against Obi-Wan’s lap, each swat a painfully beautiful surprise on his reddened ass.

Tears still trickling down his face, falling into a half-soothed silence, he feels Obi-Wan’s hand come to rest gently, tenderly on his sensitive skin, and for a moment he thinks it is over. But then with a rough jerk on the bonds, he finds himself flipped over, shifted onto his back on the bed. His arms are pinned beneath him, the soft sheets cool against him.

“Master,” he gasps in surprise as Obi-Wan shifts, placing one arm on the other side of him to lean over him. He’s still in all of his clothing, even his cloak, and Anakin is acutely aware of how naked and exposed he is, how hard he is and the way Obi-Wan’s eyes drop to the center of him. Another flicker of embarrassment, and then Obi-Wan’s hand is trailing down him, the rough linens of his robes and tunics dragging along his skin in teasing lines.

There is still darkness left swirling in him this evening, stubborn shadows and doubts, and Obi-Wan intends to scour all of that away, to leave his dear Anakin exhausted and blissfully empty of the demons that plague him. 

He teases him for the first hour, fingers and lips light and taunting on his swollen cock and sweat-slick skin, not allowing him to come at all.

He gives him what he wants for the second hour, alternating the teasing with fucking him on his back, on his knees, watching Anakin struggle and strain with all his might against the ropes as he comes over and over again against his flat stomach, against the sheets.

By the time Obi-Wan finally releases Anakin from his bonds, hazy ghosts of red cut into his skin that seethe beautifully in the lazy fog of orgasm, Anakin is empty once again, the storm clouds drained away to the content silence of a starry night. They lay together, sheets crumpled and thrown to the floor, tangled around each other, Anakin panting against Obi-Wan’s chest as Obi-Wan wraps his arms around him.

“You are safe. You are loved,” he whispers so quietly Anakin almost thinks he imagines it, but the Force sings between them, and he knows he is home. That  _ this _ will always be home.


End file.
